Mirrors allow us to look at ourselves whenever we want to look how good (or not-so-good) we are before we leave the house for the day. While mirrors in themselves are inherently harmless, if you look closer, you might just see something staring at you back.

My room growing up was pretty large, and most of my furniture was antique. I had two mirrors carved into intricate art-nouveau style wooden frames, and they were facing two windows: one was reflecting a window with a mango tree in front of it, while the other reflected the next door neighbor's roof. A friend once joked that my room looked like an intersection of a spirit path, as, despite its spring themed palettes and posters of the late-90s and early-00s boy bands, my sleeping quarters felt eerie at night when the lights go out.

That friend of mine has never been more correct.

I was listening to the Spice Girls one night and dancing in front of the mirror (I mean, who wouldn't be doing that at thirteen?). I didn't feel anything strange at first, but my head started feeling heavy, so I took a break from dancing. I went out to go to the kitchen to get some water; I didn't turn off anything—not the lights, not the radio.

I came back a few minutes later and found my room in the dark. The lights were off and it was deathly silent. I immediately felt my gut do a double dive into anxiety and mustered the courage to turn on the light. I already knew that my room has always been haunted, but it was a first that whatever was living with me had the energy to turn everything off.

After turning on the light, I placed my glass on the table and turned on the radio. The silence was deafening; Wannabe started blaring on the radio again. Things were back to normal. Almost.

I couldn't help feeling something watching me from somewhere. From the mirror. I stupidly walked towards the mirror, but so no other reflection other than mine. But I could feel something else on the other end, a strong energy coming from glass. I stared harder at the mirror, but saw nothing. However at the corner of my eye I thought I saw a white sheet of sorts floating by my window.

I looked to the window. Again, nothing. I only muttered a prayer and stared back at the mirror. Still nothing. The room felt oddly crowded, as if I were in the Shibuya crossing. I let the radio stay on until I finally felt sleepy, and when the heavy feeling disappeared.

Let's say, after that strange feeling of being watched and being in the middle of a busy intersection, I ended my dance phase. I would never be prepared to entertain an otherworldly audience.